


PINE

by roses_for_no_one



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Author Cannot Write, How Do I Tag, M/M, Pine Trees, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Snow, Winter, but author is trying really hard, let me know if I missed a tag, might be a oneshot, might write more chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roses_for_no_one/pseuds/roses_for_no_one
Summary: At least in this fit of boredom there were no bullets and yellow spray paint involved. Just a heavy heart on the verge of breaking.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	PINE

Sherlock was thinking of Irene again. John could tell. Sherlock was laying on the sofa, probably in a fit of boredom before his mind landed on  _ her _ . His eyes were glazed over and directed towards the ceiling. Only faraway nostalgic chuckles rang out occasionally from Sherlock’s lips. There was no real clue that told John that it must be Irene that Sherlock was thinking about, but he felt it in Sherlock and his own longing breath.

John saw this through the reflection of the window. He remembered that he was supposed to be writing a blog post, or doing something productive at the very least, but now John was aware that he himself was in a lethargic trance induced by a distant love. But this love was unrequited unlike Sherlock’s, and the object of his own love was laying on the sofa thinking of someone else. Oh well, oh well. At least in this fit of boredom there were no bullets and yellow spray paint involved. Just a heavy heart on the verge of breaking.

John sighed, then stiffened. Had Sherlock heard? Would he be able to deduce the emotions bottled up inside John’s heart through just one clue, just one sigh? He glanced at the reflection in the window. If Sherlock had heard, he gave no sign of it. Maybe he was overthinking this. After all, to Sherlock, they were just close friends and nothing more.

He leaned closer to the window. His breath left condensation on the glass and blurred the image of Sherlock. John drew a heart around the blurry Sherlock. The weight of his chest lifted. He giggled silently and felt like a teenage girl. He watched the fog fade along with the heart, and the weight returned once more. He realized he was getting older. When John was a teenager, he had always imagined that by this time he would’ve already found the love of his life and married her. He had been fifteen and focusing on not studying. Instead, he had busied himself with daydreams about a girl. Now, currently in his forties, he was still neglecting his work and pining, only this time the daydreams were about a man.  _ I haven’t changed at all, _ John thought.

He watched the figure in the window. Sherlock was completely still, but John stared all the same. The silence collected quietly in the apartment and suffocated John. Eventually, his vision shifted its focus from the reflection to the scenery outside. The people on the street huddled into their coats as the wind tossed them about. He wondered what would happen if he went out into the storm on a whim. He wondered if Sherlock would notice.

He refocused his vision onto the reflection of Sherlock. Nothing had changed, but the longer John stared, the warmer he became until the heat overwhelmed him. He stood up and almost knocked over his chair in the process. He grabbed his coat and resisted the urge to see if Sherlock had reacted. John stomped down the stairs and into the storm.

The snow injected icy needles into his skin. His coat was thin, and did little to shelter John from the cold. Yet, he did not mind. He welcomed the frigid sting on his cheek.

As he walked, he caught sight of a pine tree. Even in the harshest winter, the pine was forever green. Nothing short of death would sap the color from its needles, and the thought of such a thing brought tears to John’s eyes.  _ I’m hopeless,  _ he thought.  _ When did I lower myself to sympathizing with pine trees? _ He stumbled over to the pine tree, fighting the strong wind. He collapsed into the snow under the pine, and peeled the frozen tears from his cheek as more collected in their stead. He cried and cried over an evergreen love under the pine tree, and John thought it horribly fitting.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in Comic Sans and I want to submit it to my school's literary magazine. I am tired of my own shenanigans but I will not stop. Thanks for reading, and feedback is much appreciated.
> 
> <3


End file.
